A Sword to Be Sheathed: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 4) by Darcy Armstrong

Author:Darcy Armstrong [Armstrong, Darcy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-09-23T18:00:00+00:00

21

Ismay Geddes

The sun was sinking behind the surrounding buildings when they stepped out of the West Gate and into the street. Ismay drew her coat tighter, but there was a whistling wind about that cut straight through to her skin. They put their heads down and made towards the castle.

As they walked, Ismay felt her heart go out to Tavish. It was clear he was going through considerable inner turmoil. How would things settle, she wondered? Would he return to the life he knew so well, regardless of his own wants? It must have been tempting, especially in the face of such tragedy, to slip back into the familiar, like a comforting blanket.

And yet… what other life beckoned, if he had the strength to look? The thought made her uncomfortable, and Ismay looked inwards and tried to be honest with herself.

Did she care so much about his struggle because she wanted what was best for Tavish, or because she wanted him to consider a life away from the sword?

His words had sparked a sudden hope within her breast, and she looked at him differently, somehow. Not Tavish the soldier, the man she could never have, but Tavish the… the what? Not a farmer, as he’d so firmly stated. Tavish the innkeeper? Tavish the butcher?

Tavish, the husband?

Ismay shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.

They started the long walk up to the castle and the wind picked up, sweeping down the avenue in gusts. Ismay leaned forward against it, struggling with each step. The sky overhead had grown dark with the threat of snow and she counted herself lucky they enjoyed a day in the sunshine at all. Now, with the threatening grey above and the wind getting under her cloak, it all seemed a distant memory.

“Turning fast,” Tavish muttered, looking up with a grimace. “We should hurry.”

“Aye,” Ismay said with gritted teeth. “I suppose it was too good to be true.”

As they fought their way uphill, Ismay’s foot slipped, but before she could fall, Tavish’s left arm wrapped around her midriff and held her up.

“Steady,” he said. “I suspect your dress would handle a slide even poorer than my trews.”

She nodded and straightened, expecting his arm to drop, but it remained around her. She could feel his hand settle just above her hip, in the soft groove of her waist. The action pulled her closer to him and their sides touched as they walked, and Ismay found herself distracted by his closeness and the way he held her.

The avenue levelled off, and they found themselves at the top, looking across the great bridge towards the expanse of Dun Lagaidh. The top of the castle was shrouded in rolling fog. Snow fell down softly upon them. They paused and caught their breath from the arduous climb against the driving wind. Ismay felt his hand drop away with a pang of sharp regret, until it brushed her own hand. Without even knowing which of them made the movement first, they suddenly clasped hands tightly.

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